


Tidal Wave Kindness

by kuro49



Category: Jonah Hex (2010), ShakespeaRe-Told, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossing Timelines, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, i am sorry but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he was a married man, Joe Macbeth knew of a man who went by the name of Burke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tidal Wave Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for blending of film universes of different time periods. Burke/Macbeth. So ultimately ‘McFassy’ in a sense...?

Before he was a married man, Joe Macbeth knew of a man.

And his name was Burke.

000

Like everyone else, his eyes gravitate to the all-too-visible tattoos that seem to hover over the other man’s skin.

And it isn’t like he doesn’t have tattoos of his own. He has the foreign words at his wrist and the pig’s head on the triceps of his left arm. But the ones on the man’s face, leading down to the gaping opening of his shirt collar, is an intricate knit of a pattern that is cutting into the flesh. No, it’s not like he can’t look away, he just decides to keep his eyes on the man from across the dingy bar.

The man is anti-social to say the least, he brushes off beautiful women intrigued enough to get close with an animalistic snare and drinks whiskey with occasional glances at the television sitting behind the bar.

An accident on the freeway. A suicide on the subway. A dead man found behind the dumpsters. A robbery went wrong. The news is an endless tirade of destruction and death, of censorship and horrible mistakes blown out of proportion.

Joe catches the flickers of morbid fascination behind the cool collected composure the man has. And he is almost convinced that he is seeing things in the late hours of the night.

He stares and there is no shame in the way he is obvious about his intentions. He drinks his cheap beer and licks at the foam on his lips, Joe doesn’t need to fake his obsession. His tongue is blood red and his eyes are blood shot, he still hasn’t looked away.

And then he waits.

There is a dangerous gleam, one that belongs in the reflection of the eyes of the prey, when the man finally walks over with a certain sway to his steps.

“You’re interested.”

He puts his cup on the table as he stands tall, eyes peering down beneath dark lashes.

“…You’re interesting.”

Joe comments as he finishes off his beer and drags a hand across his mouth. He doesn’t miss the way the man’s eyes are fixated on the jutting bone of his wrist.

“And so are you.”

He takes a seat at the table and fakes emotion after emotion, like he is genuinely curious when all he feels is dead inside, like the popping of a barely blown bubble. Joe doesn’t know anything yet but the man seems like he wants to show him something good.

“Who are you?”

He doesn’t order another drink for himself, he thinks he has had enough. He still have work in the morning, he has a few hours to spare for sleep. He rests his chin on the hand he has propped his elbow up on.

“The right question should be what are you?”

The man corrects with a widening grin.

“I can guess.”

Joe smiles easily at the fear that still hasn’t caught up with his instincts.

“I’m a sociopath.”

And he only keeps pushing at the limits.

“You’re a psychopath.”

His eyes twinkle and it can be any one of them now. The genuine kindness is bleeding into the intricate layers of a well-constructed lie. Burke is impressed.

“How’d you know?”

 _A sociopath has blame, you only have yourself._ The words are at the tip of his tongue but instead of saying them out loud for the world to hear, he brushes him off instead and says, “lucky guess?”

Reaching out with an outstretched arm, he takes the man’s whiskey and downs it with one gulp. Ice cooling the heat over his lips before he replaces the empty cup back down on the shared table.

 “Macbeth, Joe Macbeth.”

And the man grins, baring teeth with a stretch of thin lips and there is no bodily contact just yet.

“Burke.”

000

This was the humble beginning.

Even before he had found his passion for loving the food he would come to cook.

000

He pushes the key into the keyhole just as the lock gives an audible click from behind the door.

He pushes it open with a gingered grasp on the handle before it is yanked wide open and he is being pulled into a pair of arms that wraps itself neatly around his waist. Palms sliding against the fabric of his long overcoat, pulling and tugging until he overcomes the initial shock and catches the sight of a tattooed chin.

“You smell good.”

Burke bents his head down and buries his nose into the crook of his neck. His murmur is hot against the flesh as he breathes in his scent but Joe only has the stench of blood and animal intestines etched beneath his nails and the roots of his hair.

“How did you get in?”

Panic doesn’t rise in his words, his voice is steady and calm. He has only met the man once before and he knows there might as well be a knife in one hand and a gun in the other but the fear is not there.

“Your door was unlocked.”

“After you broke in.” He stares pointedly at Burke and the man only gives him another one of those feral grin like he is contemplating whether he should eat the man before him in one swallow or leave bits and pieces of him lying around for when he gets hungry again.

“I made dinner.”

“I ate already.”

“Good then, because I already ate most of it.”

Burke pulls him into the kitchen where he is served half a piece of chicken, still bordering on being undercooked but still thoroughly burnt. And it may be the worst meal Joe has ever tasted in his life but it is also one that he will never forget, especially with that awful yet distinct taste of ash still lingering on his tongue.

“This is terrible, Burke.”

Picking at the food on his plate, he points out flatly and this isn’t even the chef in him talking.

But the man only pulls his chair closer and chuckles himself into hysterics, fingers still digging into the bones of the chicken and there is still traces of blood lacing the meat.

“Come here.”

And then Burke leans over, pressing laughter over on to his lips. He expects biting and force but it is lazy and slow, like time will shove over when the man bares his teeth at it. Burke’s hands run along his neck, pushing aside the collar of his coat, over and off of the curve of his shoulders before Joe recognizes that he is being kissed, full on the mouth and a little too tamed for a man who takes and takes without looking back.

Burke pulls him out of his jacket.

 “Don’t take this as a compliment for your horrible food.”

And Joe is leaning for another kiss.

His lips are red and his tongue still tastes of ash and blood.

Burke laughs against his mouth before he is finally slipping an experimental tongue out and between Joe’s lips. He hums in content as Joe exerts dominance and pushes back, Burke runs his tongue all over his mouth and they are both out of breath.

His fingers find the hemline of his black tank and he rakes the skin with blunt nails, bringing a tingle of slight pain that Joe knows as four parallel lines trailing a tantalizing red of interest and morbid fascination.

000

Even when Duncan discovered him, he was still the Joe Macbeth Burke had kissed so thoroughly.

But this was before all that had even started.

000

Burke comes when he likes.

Joe doesn’t give him a key because then it will feel a little too domestic and neither of them likes playing house. And sometimes Burke wakes him up in the middle of the night with a hand inching beneath the waistband of his pants smelling like ashen earth and still-hot blood.

Joe knows what fresh kill smells like, he has had enough blood on his hands to recognize the scent on instincts. For the sharp pang of dread, he simply doesn’t ask whether Burke has just killed someone or been digging around the graveyards for quick cash.

He only rolls over in bed and tugs at Burke’s hand until it is out of his pants and around his waist instead. And Burke will kiss and suck at the flesh at the back of his neck until he is waking up in his arms with a soft and impatient groan forming in his throat.

“Do you use the front door?”

“Does it matter?”

Joe twists around to stare at him with lidded eyes in the dark and it takes a second for him to decide. But when he makes up his mind, he is already leaning in to kiss him full on the mouth.

Hands palming each side of Burke’s cheeks with a light hold, just to see if he would run away.

Burke doesn’t pull away from the affectionate gesture, he only says he has a tendency to over think. Joe pretends the grim underneath the fingernails of the hand that is feeling him up is common dirt and not soil or ingredients fit for making dynamites.

“Did you pick my lock?”

Burke shakes his head, biting and licking at the lobe of his ear.

“Kitchen window?”

Burke rolls his eyes, hand fanning against his bare back.

“Fire escape?”

“I have a key.”

“You made a replica of my key?”

He doesn’t sound angry because he really isn’t or maybe Burke has taken it all from him with greedy hands. He needs all the emotions he can have and just as Burke has taught him, words, much like remorse, is a rather useless thing.

“Yes, I did.”

He growls deeply at him and Joe has never felt this turned on.

But these are Burke’s good days.

On his less-than-so days, he bursts through the front door with a key he has never seen in hand, charisma dissolving into flitting emotions that have no depth and the frustration is running high enough for Joe to put away the knives.

“This is me being nice, Joe Macbeth.”

And then he will push him up against the walls of his shabby apartment with lips already pressing bruises along his jaw.

000

This was before he knew Billy.

This was also during the time in his life when he could still sleep at night.

000

“Burke.”

He has him pushed up on the countertops and his lips are sticky with strawberry jam, fingers sickeningly sweet. And it seems as though he is suffocating in the heated air of a cotton candy machine with the way the sun warms the broad span of Burke’s bare back because the man is supposed to lack an ability to form human attachments.

“What happened?”

He feels hot all over.

“I—” Burke falters when he pushes into him and there is nothing nice with the way his panting is loud and harsh in the early afternoon sun blazing through the kitchen windows. “I love you.”

When Burke lies through his teeth and tells him that he loves him. Joe hears only feels as though he is the next pig ready for slaughter.

Burke can’t love him and neither does Joe.

When the temper has passed and indifference has returned, Burke slowly pulls back and examines the mess in his arms. Joe leans heavily against the cupboards, lips smeared with red and jam and it is uncomfortable. Reaching out, Burke touches the angle of his jaw and feels the stubbles beneath his fingertips with a smile twisting at his lips.

“Macbeth, you’re messed.”

He notes the blood on his lips when he bites too hard from the pleasure-pain that erupts when Burke pulls him close, he also feels the fingertips on his hips when Burke grips too tight, blunt nails biting crescent moons into the flesh. He is naked in the kitchen of a shitty apartment with no curtains and it isn’t even three yet. Joe is also sure his voice is a little raw.

“Save that for yourself, Burke.”

He shoots back just as easily as Burke endlessly spews lies and make-believe movie lines. Because what he lacks in empathy, the man makes up with charisma, all fake through and through but Joe believes Burke deserves brownie points for trying at least.

Or maybe he is too much of a nice guy, still.

000

If Ella ever knew, he wouldn’t know what to do.

Because Burke was a one man secret he liked to keep to himself.

000

Perhaps it is almost a year or just a little more than half a year when Joe wakes up in the morning, sporting bruises and love bites all along his neck and chest. Because there is never any courtesy to Burke’s method and he doesn’t believe in playing fair. This is about exploiting the weaknesses and exposing the vulnerability they never knew they had.

He lifts a hand to rub at his face but the sharp pain in his arm rips a groan from between his strained throat.

He doesn’t know how, he only knows who.

And Burke’s name brings a headache to his mind.

There is probably a nasty purpling bruise at his throat in the shape of long fingers and a tight tight grip. And when he finally glances down at his left arm, Joe doesn’t even bother to lift the gauze to peek at the horribly bandaged gash that he knows will be there.

It isn’t a silly forget-me-not.

(It was his fault he didn’t put away the knives the night before.)

This is who he is.

It will take days for the wound to heal up into a scar and he can always take Burke’s advice and lie. It is almost too easy to say that it was an amateur mistake. The bandages soak a bloody red.

And when he finally lifts his right arm to drag a hand over his face to rub at the tiredness that has gathered, he glances down beside him. There is a note on the pillow Burke usually uses and he is just surprised he hasn’t crushed the piece of paper in his sleep when he finally picks it up.

 

_Good morning tidal wave, you are looking at kindness in the eyes._

 

And he feels like he is dead but he can’t come back to life.

By the end of the month, the gaping bloody wound will heal into the perfect scar. By the end of the week, he will also have the perfect story to go along with it.

But every time, after this, he picks up a knife and gets blood all over his hair and clothes, he will think of a man named Burke. And every time he sees the scar, he will be forced to remember a night he can’t really recall and the notion it brings is like a masquerade of a hit and run.

000

This was for the future child he never imagined himself to have and lose.

This was also for Burke, the man he never had and lost.

XXX Kuro


End file.
